Justice
by Elizabeth Cote
Summary: Faced with Anders' violent attack, Hawke is forced to make a choice. Trapped between loyalties, what fate will the Champion, a mage, decide for Anders?


_Bioware's sandbox/characters. My imagination. I claim to own only my logic. _

As the fiery explosion still echoed the air, and all his companions stood transfixed by the devastation, Anders dropped his staff to the cobblestones. He sat in silence on a crate, muttering "No compromise."

Sebastian, bathed in the ashes of his former home, babbled a barely-coherent prayer for the souls of all Anders' victims as tears streamed down his face. Hawke let out a shuddering breath and turned her haunted eyes to the former Warden.

"What have you done?" She asked, her voice rasping like a death rattle. Anders did not look at her, but studied his hands; his voice calm and contented.

"There can be no compromise. Mages must be free. I am their banner."

"You're a murderer." The Champion corrected him with a snarl. Little currents of white electricity danced across her knuckles as her fists shook with rage. "The Grand Cleric, the mages; their blood is on your hands!"

Anders jerked, half-looked in her direction, then subsided.

"There's nothing you can say that I haven't already said to myself. Vengeance took me over. I couldn't stop him." He did look back then, over his shoulder at Hawke. As harrowing sorrow and righteous fury warred for supremacy within her, Anders continued.

"Justice once told me that demons were just spirits perverted by their desires. I made my friend a demon. And he did this."

"Do not hide behind your 'spirit'!" Spat Sebastian, his voice rough with grief. "It was your hand that did this!"

Anders gave no sign he'd even heard the archer, just set his gaze upon the ash-covered cobblestones. "Kill me now." He said. "Before there's nothing left of me."

Hawke stared hard at his still back, her thoughts boiling and churning for a seeming eternity. Then, slowly, her hand raised until its fingers brushed feather-light on the hilt of her dagger. She could feel Sebastian's grim, approving gaze like a palpable touch. He exhaled, short and harsh, in satisfaction. But then she stopped, her hand falling back down to her side.

"No." She whispered. Sebastian and Anders both snapped their heads in her direction, the former in furious disbelief, the latter in confounded disappointment. Before either could speak, Hawke lifted her righteous green eyes to Sebastian's and cried, "I will _not_ make a martyr of him!"

Both men were stunned into silence for an instant, and Hawke pressed that advantage.

"Killing him will only seem to prove the rightness of his cause, making him the symbol he claims to be in truth. Mages would see him as a banner, then, of freedom, using his fanatic death as an excuse for further extremism 'in pursuit of freedom.'"

Sebastian's face was furnace-bright, his brogue thickening in his rage.

"No! You cannot let this Abomination walk free, or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me when I return that there'll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!"

"Be still, Sebastian. I have no intention of setting him free." Said Hawke, facing the enraged prince with such icy calm that he fell silent once more.

"No!" said Anders. He finally rose from his improvised seat to face her, meeting her cold gaze with feverish intensity. "I have proven I cannot control Vengeance. I need to die."

"You need to be stopped." Hawke corrected him in a strange, hollow voice. "But I will not grant you the victory that death would provide."

Anders stared at her, uncomprehending. Then his eyes widened in fear.

"N-no," he breathed, reaching for the staff that was no longer at his back.

Hawke was already gripping the Staff of Parlathan and waved her free hand. The horrified Abomination was rooted where he stood as she cast a paralyzation glyph onto the sooty stones beneath his feet.

"Hawke, no–y-you can't—" he stammered.

"I must. And I will." She intoned, staring into his frantic brown eyes. "For _Justice_."

In invoking that word, pale blue Fade-light sundered cracks in Anders' skin and an unearthly roar issued from his mouth. The paralyzing rune shuddered.

"Carver." Snapped Hawke, teeth gritted in concentration, and the black-haired Templar strode forward. Eyes dark and flashing, he summoned a crushing Silence that banished Anders' passenger and left the Abomination gasping desperately for breath.

"No...no..." Anders mouthed in silence. Hawke looked on her former friend with an expression too blank to be called angry, too hard to be called pitying, and too sad to be mistaken for satisfaction. It was a troubled study of mixed emotions, yet held a surety that allowed for no second-guessing.

"You will be made Tranquil." She said, her voice quiet yet clear. "You will serve the families of those you've murdered. You will help rebuild the Chantry here, though there could never be enough repayment for your crimes. May the Maker have mercy on you."

Carver glanced at his sister, his expression grim yet satisfied. She dispelled the glowing rune so her brother could lead the Silenced, staggering mage away to be branded. Sebastian said nothing, dark emotions warring on his face as he glowered at her.

"Being made Tranquil was his greatest fear, Sebastian." She said softly, for his ears alone. "There is poetic justice in that. His heart will still beat, but Anders as we know him will be dead as surely as if I had slit his throat. Only this way, he is still able to aid the families of those he's killed."

Sebastian stared hard at the back of the retreating Templar for a long moment, then nodded his assent. The motion was stiff with barely-controlled anger, but it was all he could manage while he was still caught in the suffocating grip of grief. Hawke inclined her head, grateful that he'd seen reason, before looking to the rest of her companions.

One by one, they all silently nodded to Hawke. She inclined her head again, speechless, and turned away to lead them all to their next–and hopefully last–battle.

Her companions never noticed the single bitter tear glistening on Hawke's cheek.

Later, with their enemies defeated and Kirkwall safe once more, Varric would ask Hawke if she ever regretted her choice. The Champion hardly thought about it before answering.

"No." She said simply, her eyes honest and clear. "It was difficult at the time, but I'm sure now that it was the only real choice."

"Some would disagree, Hawke." Drawled Varric, undisputed master of understatement.

"Someone always does." The mage said, smiling grimly. "I've heard all the arguments; 'he had good intentions', 'the Chantry had it coming', even that I was 'a hippocrite for siding with the Templars.' It's all nug-crap."

Varric pursed his lips slightly. "Humor me."

Hawke obliged him.

"As a friend of mine once so pithily stated, opinions are like testicles..." Varric laughed and finished the quotation for her.

"...kick them hard enough and it doesn't matter how many ya got. I remember. What's the truth then?"

"In order? Good intentions don't make murder any less evil; Grand Cleric Elthina never did anything to deserve getting vaporized just so Anders could make a point; and just because I'm a mage doesn't mean I don't see the need for mages to be held accountable. Look at Tevinter. I'm not so blind that I think that couldn't happen here."

"But you do acknowledge that Meridith went too far, and that's why we took her down. I know. But what about Anders?"

Hawke shrugged, her green eyes darkening just a bit as she spoke.

"Letting Anders go would have been irresponsible at best. He couldn't control Vengeance–he admitted as much himself. Killing him would make us the same as Vengeance. That wouldn't have served anyone."

The Champion leaned forward then, staring deeply into her friends' eyes. "But making him Tranquil? Enacting punishment, ensuring he couldn't harm anyone else, freeing him from Vengeance, and giving him a chance to atone? That was true justice."

Varric couldn't disagree.


End file.
